


lay down my shields

by katsumi



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Caretaking, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-24 08:41:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10738140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsumi/pseuds/katsumi
Summary: Jyn comes down with a strange reaction to a foreign plant, but it doesn't seem like a big enough deal to bother anyone with. That is, until she faints in the middle of the hallway.





	lay down my shields

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taeyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taeyn/gifts).



> Written in response to a request for sickfic/caretaking, which is my _jam_ so I was more than happy to oblige!

They’re safe in the ship, hurtling back to Hoth through the chaotic whirl of hyperspace when it happens the first time.

Jyn’s reloading her blaster in the lower cargo hold when all of a sudden she’s weightless, swathed in rays of yellow light, adrift in some foreign, nebulous sea. For a perilously long moment, she floats there, engulfed in silence. And some corner of her mind thinks, quietly: _this isn’t right._

Then the ship hits a snag, her shoulder slams up against the wall, and she’s back: crouched in the corner with her blaster, ears ringing. She can hear Bodhi and Baze speaking to each other on the upper deck, their voices mere murmurs drowned out by the hum of the engine.

She chalks it up to a strange manifestation of adrenaline. This mission had involved more than its fair share of close calls, and her heart is still thumping erratically against her ribs. She shakes it off and heads back up to the cockpit.

But then, as they’re preparing to jump out of hyperspace, Bodhi turns around and asks: “Before I forget, neither of you touched the yellow plants, did you?”

Baze shakes his head. Jyn, who very much _did_ touch the yellow plants—who in fact fell headfirst into a snare of them in an effort to dodge some stormtroopers—crosses her arms over her chest.

“Why?”

Bodhi turns back to the controls. “According to the debrief, the yellow plant can make you sick if you haven’t built up an immunity.”

Jyn glowers, shifting back into her seat. “They couldn’t have told us this _before_?”

She doesn’t miss the way Baze glances over at her.

“I guess it’s only an issue when they’re in bloom,” says Bodhi with a shrug. “And they bloomed early this year. It’s all in the debrief, if you want to read.”

“No thanks.”

Bodhi seems satisfied with this. But Baze, clearly, is not. As soon as they land, he hooks one giant hand around her arm and steers her off the U-Wing.

“Med bay,” he says, low to her ear. “Right now.”

She could put up a fight, but what’s the point. She’s seen Baze casually lift Chirrut over his shoulder and walk off with him on numerous occasions—Baze is frequently impatient; Chirrut frequently distracted—and Jyn knows he won’t hesitate to do the same to her.

She takes a quick glance about the loading dock and notes, with some relief, that at least Cassian isn’t here to see this.

Turns out, those who haven’t built up an immunity to the flower—known locally and rather ominously as _bloodfire_ —can essentially react in one of two ways. Most experience a dull headache lasting approximately two to four days. A select few suffer a far more severe reaction that can lead to a high fever, delirium, nausea, and persistent fainting spells.

“Have you experienced any strange sensations since the encounter?” the med droid asks. “Headaches? Hallucinations?”

Jyn could not be more grateful that Baze headed to the mission debrief after dropping her off in medical and isn't around for this conversation.

“No,” she says, tilting up her chin to fix the droid with a blank, assured stare. “Can’t say I have.”

“Well if you do,” says the droid, pleasantly, “you can come back for some painkillers. You are encouraged to rest and drink plenty of fluids. Do not operate any heavy machinery for the next twenty-four hours.”

Jyn hops off the patient table, nodding. “Sounds like a plan.”

She keeps her head down through the halls, weaving through the throng of people on a beeline for her quarters. At least the disease—if you can call it that; it’s more like an aggressive allergy—isn’t contagious. Plus, there’s no cure but to wait it out. If she’s going to get sick, it’s damn well going to be in her own bed, not trapped in the white-washed, artificially bright rooms of the medbay.

She’s not even fully convinced she’ll experience anything more than that one odd moment on the ship. The last sickness she remembers, she was still a child curled against her mother’s chest, Lyra’s fingers stroking idle lines along her sweaty forehead. She’s managed to keep above water for two decades; surely a brief encounter with a bulbous plant won’t be more than her body can handle.

Then she rounds the corner and walks straight into Cassian.

They’re both walking fast enough the collision is thoroughly jarring. Jyn slams into his shoulder and skitters off-balance; his arms fly up to catch her, hooking tight around her waist. And even though the impact wasn’t that severe at all, it feels as though Jyn’s brain has crashed up against her skull, reverberating in little jolts of pain all down her spine, her arms, into her fingertips.

_‘Dull headache’ my ass._

“Jyn?” Cassian’s voice sounds far away, ethereal. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”

She nods against his shoulder. She only barely registers that he’s holding her up; were it not for his hands on her sides, she’d probably slip straight down to the ground.

“Jyn?” His voice is clear enough now that she can register his concern. “Jyn, are you alright?”

“Fine.” She has to press her palm against his chest to regain her footing. “I’m fine. You just caught me off guard.”

When she tilts up to look at him, he’s giving her this little quirk of the eyebrow as if to say, _me? You were walking just as fast_. His scruff is short, freshly trimmed the way he likes to keep it when he’s on base for a few days in a row, and he’s smiling—just that tick at the corner of his mouth, the subtle tilt of his neck.

She’s missed him.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” he asks. His hands still linger along her sides.

She forces herself to pull out of his grasp, taking a purposeful step back.

“Meetings,” she lies. “You know how it is.”

That small hint of a smile wavers. “Yeah,” says Cassian. “I do.”

“So, I’m just going to—” She gestures down the hallway, preparing to move around him. But Cassian steps to the side, fast, blocking her path. All traces of that smile are gone, now.

“You okay?” he asks.

Jyn manages to plaster on a grin, even though the sheer act of doing so feels like it’s splitting her skull.

“‘Course.”

She starts walking away before he can argue. Because there’s nothing to argue about—she _is_ fine, in the sense that her life is not in danger, whatever’s going on will pass, and she can still function perfectly well even if her head’s as clogged and heavy as it’s ever been.

Cassian doesn’t follow her. (Not that she expected he would.)

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, hunched over the toilet in the small fresher attached to her room, Jyn thinks _fine_ might be a relative term.

She’s staring down at the blue-grey liquid at the bottom of the basin, heartbeat pounding a dizzying rhythm in her ears, when she hears a knock at the door. It takes some effort to drag herself up and stumble for the door; when she opens it, Bodhi’s waiting patiently on the other side.

His mouth drops open at the sight of her. That can’t be a good sign.

“Are you alright?” Bodhi gasps, eyes darting about her face. “You look pale.”

“I’m always pale,” Jyn shoots back. “What do you need?”

Bodhi’s eyebrows are so high on his forehead, they’ve practically disappeared beneath his goggles. “Are you sure you’re—”

“Bodhi. What do you need?”

He bites his lip. “Erm, well—it’s time for dinner? I think I saw berries in the mess.”

She can’t help but soften. Ever since she told Bodhi about the berry bushes on Lah’mu that were nestled up in the windy groves of the northern hills, he’s made a point to steal some berries for her if they ever show up at meals. It’s sweet in a way she’s not used to, in a way she worries she’ll never be able to properly reciprocate.

“Okay,” she allows, attempting something like cheer. “Thank you.”

Surely a bit of sugar will help settle things a bit. Surely she can handle a half hour in pleasant company.

Turns out, even that is too much to hope for. She’s made it two steps into the mess before the screech of the crowd makes her stop in her tracks. Her whole head singes like the burnt residue of blasterfire; she sways on her feet at the force of it.

“Jyn?” Bodhi asks. “Is everything okay?”

She nods. “Fine.”

Except that waves have appeared in front of her eyes, dark and looming, warping Bodhi’s chest into some strange, oblong shape.

“Fine,” she repeats. Her voice sounds far away. “I just need to—I’m not hungry, Bodhi. I’m going to—”

She turns without finishing the sentence, striding back into the hall. She can hear Bodhi’s footsteps following behind her, and there’s a creeping blackness closing in at the edges of her vision, and then suddenly there’s Cassian: surprise on his face, hand reaching towards her.

She just makes out his voice—a quiet “Jyn?”—before everything turns black.

 

* * *

 

She wakes to a deep ache in her bones and something making a very loud noise very close to her face.

When she opens her eyes, she realizes that thing is Cassian.

“Jyn!” He’s shouting, his face tight with panic above her, eyes wide and wild. “Jyn, can you hear me? Jyn!”

She can hear him. Too well, in fact. Her ears are ringing.

“Shut up,” she manages. He bends down, pressing a shaking palm against her cheek; his naked relief is dizzying.

“Did you hit your head?” Baze asks, from somewhere to her right. “Here, how many fingers am I holding up?”

The hand that looms over her face is swiftly shoved away.

“Assessing her sight is not the best measure,” a voice cuts in—clearly Chirrut’s. “Jyn, is your mouth experiencing any unusual, bitter tastes?”

“She didn’t hit her head,” says Bodhi, and when she feels a rumble against the back of her head in time with his voice, she realizes it’s because her head is in his lap, his arms clutching her shoulders.

“Bodhi caught her before she hit the floor,” Cassian agrees. “She didn’t hit her head.”

He brushes some stray hairs from her forehead, fingers twitching with nervous energy Jyn wishes she could soothe.

“Um,” Jyn croaks. “Where am I?”

“The hallway,” says a voice that’s unmistakably K2’s. “You fainted. It was unexpected and mildly alarming.”

Jyn groans. It’s not the fainting bit that annoys her—she’d gathered as much—but seriously, they hadn’t had the forethought to move her out of the hallway? The entirety of the rebellion could have passed by and stopped to stare?

She opens her mouth to tell him exactly this, but Cassian cuts her off.

“You haven’t been out long,” he says, as though anticipating her displeasure. “Just a minute or so. We didn’t want to move you until you woke up, just in case.”

“Well,” says Jyn, “I’m awake now, so.”

She curls forward, attempting to pull herself up, but Bodhi’s fingers dig into her shoulders, tight.

“You should lie down!” he squeaks.

“That’s what I’m going to to go do,” says Jyn. “Lie down. I just need to get to my bed, first.”

“You mean to the medbay,” K2 corrects. “In situations such as these, the appropriate response would be to—”

“I’ve already been to medbay,” Jyn interrupts. “It’s fine, look, I just need to sleep it off.” She’s not sure how else to convince them, so she scrambles for the hand Cassian still has pressed to her cheek and squeezes it once, tight. “I just need to sleep it off.”

He doesn’t look particularly reassured, but the sharp slant of his frown softens. He squeezes her hand back.

“Okay.” His voice is soft. “I’m going to go speak with them now to double check, but for the moment, okay.”

She swallows. “Thank you.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Then he makes a gesture that Jyn can’t quite interpret. But Baze seems to be able to.

“Understood,” Baze says. And then without any warning whatsoever, he scoops her into his arms and hoists her up into the air.

“I can walk!” she squacks. (All current evidence to the contrary.) But no one pays her any mind. Baze turns and starts off down the hallway with Jyn in his arms and Chirrut at his side. She can hear Cassian and Bodhi’s voices growing fainter in the distance.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone,” Baze mutters.

“It’s not a big deal.” There’s no point in arguing; Baze is going to carry her whether she likes it or not, she knows that. But still— “They discharged me, it’s fine. I just need to wait it out.”

Baze hitches her a little higher.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone,” he repeats.

 

* * *

 

When Cassian and Bodhi make it back to her room, Jyn’s huddled in bed beneath three blankets and glaring  at Baze and Chirrut, who are staunchly refusing to leave. They’re glaring back. (Even Chirrut, whose head is tilted such that it looks as though he’s staring right at her. It’s eerie.)

“She’s going to be fine,” says Cassian, moving to stand by the head of the bed. “The effects should wear off in a few days. They said this is a fairly normal reaction to the exposure.”

“I could have told you that,” Jyn grumbles.

“But you _didn’t_!” Bodhi snaps.

They all turn to stare at him. Bodhi’s eyes grow to as wide as Jyn’s ever seen them; the regret on his face is palpable. “I’m sorry. Oh, Jyn, I’m—”

“No,” says Casssian, firm. “Don’t be sorry. You’re right. She didn’t tell us.”

And as much as Jyn wants to lash back at that, she’s stuck on the way Bodhi’s worrying his lower lip, shifting nervously on his feet. She sighs.

“It’s okay, Bodhi.” Her voice sounds very small, like it too is buried beneath the blankets. The next part of what she wants to say—the _I’m sorry, too_ —gets stuck in her throat. She hopes the small smile she musters is able to do some of the translation.

It must, because Bodhi smiles back. It’s a strange thing, to see so many faces echo that same worried smile. Strange and overwhelming.

“I’m fine,” she insists. It’s not quite the truth, though it’s not quite a lie; her head’s feeling much better than it was before. “You guys can go, now.”

No one moves.

“Seriously. I can’t sleep if you’re all going to just stand here watching me.”

Still nothing.

“Guys!”

She twists her neck up to Cassian, a silent plea. He nods.

“We should let her sleep.”

Cassian moves to usher the crowd from the room, and Jyn does her best to shoot them grateful glances as they go. Chirrut even leans over and clutches her foot reassuringly on his way out the door, all the more impressive that he grabs it on the first try given that it’s ensconced beneath three layers of blankets.

But when Chirrut, Baze, and Bodhi have made their way out of the room, Cassian doesn’t follow. He simply shuts the door behind them and starts to walk back over to the bed.

“Forget something?” Jyn asks, pointedly narrowing her eyes.

“Get some sleep, Jyn.”

He sinks down into a chair by the bedside table, slumps his elbows over his knees.

She means to tell him off, to ask him to leave. But the words twist around inside her, and what comes out of her mouth is something else entirely.

“You’re staying?”

He looks up at her for a moment, his face a web of weary lines and bone-deep exhaustion. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But—”

“Jyn.” His eyes drift down to his hands, clasped between his knees. “Don’t worry about it.”

She does worry about it. There’s lots to worry about: the number of things he’s supposed to be attending to, the fact that her stomach could turn against her at any moment (not something she particularly wants him to see). The strange vulnerability that comes from sleeping while someone else is awake, from knowing they’re watching you, from suspecting that they’re worried about you.

She looks at him, at the curve of his back, at the way his hair falls over his eyes. It feels like something out of a dream to be here with him like this—like everything is washed in gray, only half-real.

She closes her eyes.

 

* * *

 

Thunder roars against her ears and the world bleeds white. All she can see amidst the glow is Cassian, his body gnarled and twisted, plummeting out of sight.

The glow recedes, and still there’s Cassian—his face this time, rather close to hers, eyes wide and frantic. She’s shaking, and she realizes it’s because his hands are on her shoulders, shaking her awake.

“It was a dream, Jyn,” he’s saying, low and tight. “It was just a dream. You’re okay, you’re okay.”

She’s disoriented, soaked in sweat straight through to her sheets, and she can only blink up at him, trying to catch her breath.

“You’re okay,” Cassian repeats, and she recognizes that weight on her forehead as his palm, stroking away her stringy hair. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

There’s no need for this at all—she’s fine, she _knows_ she is. But the immediate relief at those words unspools something tight within her.

She closes her eyes. Swallows. _He’s here_ , she tells herself. _He’s here._

“Bathroom?” she asks.

When she opens her eyes, Cassian is looking down at her, brow creased in concern.

She clears her throat and manages, a little louder: “I need to use the bathroom.”

He nods and pulls away, though it’s with clear reluctance. Jyn peels herself off the bed and pushes herself to her feet, swaying a little as she does. Cassian’s hands immediately latch onto her shoulders, steadying her, as though he expects her to keel over at any moment.

(Infuriatingly, this is an understandable thing for him to expect, given the day she’s had.)

She shrugs off his hands and shuffles for the bathroom where she sits in for a while, collecting herself. She feels—well, she wouldn’t call it _good_ , but better, certainly. Less like her head’s about to collapse in on itself.

When she opens the door back to her room, she finds Cassian pacing a tight circle by her bed, hands shoved deep into his pockets. The soft light is casting his white shirt in shades of blue, deepening the dark shadows below his eyes.

“What time is it?” Jyn asks.

Cassian’s head whips up. He looks at her for a long moment, assessing.

“Late,” he says, finally.

“How late?”

“Very late.” He runs a hand through his hair. “The mess opens in about four hours.”

Jyn crosses her arms. “Then what are you still doing here?”

Cassian blinks at her, like this is a question he genuinely doesn’t understand.

“If you have to be up in four hours,” says Jyn, “what are you still doing here?”

His surprise quickly morphs into something darker. “Because I have to be. Get back in bed.”

“Have to be?” Jyn echoes, narrowing her eyes. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Jyn.”

“No, I’m serious. You don’t _have to be_ anywhere. I’m—”

“Don’t you dare say _fine_ ,” Cassian spits, sudden and loud. “You’re not fine.”

“The med droid said—”

“I don’t _care_ what the med droid said!” His jaw is clenched, like even in this outburst he is holding himself back, and she wonders how much sleep he’s gotten: if he’s been sitting in that chair all those hours, just waiting for her to wake up.

“I don’t care,” he repeats, stepping towards her, “if it’s a normal reaction. I don’t care that it will pass. Right now, you’re feverish and fainting, you’re hallucinating, you’re—you’re _not fine_!”

For a beat, neither speaks.

“Well actually,” says Jyn, “I’m not hallucinating right at the moment. Unless you yelling at me for no good reason is a hallucination.”

He growls, scrubbing a hand across his face with such beleaguered desperation that Jyn’s stomach dips. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, controlled.

“I understand that you don’t want me here. I do. But you need _someone_ to be here with you, and right now, I’m it. So like it or not, you’re just going to have to put up with me.”

This notion—that Jyn wouldn’t want Cassian around—is so surprising that Jyn’s mouth actually falls open. She’s still working out how to respond when Cassian steps closer, gesturing back towards the bed.

“Would you please just…” His voice trails off.

Jyn swallows. “Yeah. Okay.”

She climbs into the bed, still a little shaky, curling onto her side facing him. He gives a quick nod, then turns back for the chair.

“You really don’t have to stay, you know.”

He stops.

“You said before that you have to be here. You don’t. Even if I’m not fine yet, I will be soon. It’s not your responsibility to do this.”

He lets out a harsh breath and swivels to face her, incredulity plain on his face.

“You think I want to take care of you because I see it as a responsibility?” His voice is tight, like he’s offended by the very thought.

“Well–”

“For the love of—” He breaks off, snarling. “Jyn, I’m here because I care about you and you’re in pain. Is that so damn hard for you to understand?”

Words fail her. She simply stares at him—at the tense line of his shoulders, at the wrinkles of his furrowed brow—and tries to puzzle out what to say in response. Because it _is_ hard to understand, like words in a language she once knew but hasn’t heard spoken in years. It all sounds so foreign, so far from what she’s come to accept as reality.

She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she scoots as far towards the wall as she can, leaving an empty space by the edge that she pats with the palm of her hand.

Cassian glances from her hand to her face, eyes wide.

“Get in,” says Jyn. “You look worse than I do.”

“You don’t have to do that,” says Cassian, immediately. “The chair is fine.”

“Just get in the damn bed, Cassian.”

He does. Gingerly, he slides himself onto his back beneath the covers, clearly taking care to keep a solid few inches between them.

He tips his head to the side to look at her. “Happy?”

He means it to be teasing, she knows that. But something constricts in her chest in spite of herself.

“Yeah,” she mumbles.

He goes still. She closes her eyes; this is a lot already, without having to look at him.

“I’m glad,” she says. “That it’s you. If someone’s here, I want it to be you.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and Jyn refuses to open her eyes to gauge his expression herself. Then he shifts against the mattress and she feels his hand on her forearm—light, tentative. She immediately shifts closer, pressing into his skin.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Cassian says, so soft she can barely hear it. “Get some sleep, Jyn.”

She nods, already sinking under.

 

* * *

 

When Jyn next opens her eyes, the first thing she notices is that she can no longer feel that lingering throb in the front of her skull. Her entire head feels two times lighter, like it might float off her pillow at any moment.

The second thing she notices is that hers is not the only head on her pillow. When she opens her eyes, she blinks Cassian’s soft, sleeping face into focus. They’ve shifted closer in sleep so that his arm is now draped across her waist, her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. She can feel his breath on her skin.

Maybe she’s still delirious. Or maybe his face is just a little too close to hers. Or maybe, she just really, really wants to.

She leans forward and slowly, softly brushes her lips against his cheek.

His eyes flutter open, blinking back surprise. “Jyn?”

She should pull away, widen the distance between them. She knows she should. But she doesn’t.

“Jyn?” he asks again, voice crackly from sleep. “Did you just…”

“Kiss you?” Jyn asks. “Yeah.” There doesn’t seem to be any point in hiding it, not when her face is still so close to his.

Cassian’s eyes are wider, now, far more alert. He opens his mouth, presumably to speak, then promptly closes it again.

“Relax,” says Jyn, feeling a flush tickle at her cheeks. “It was just your cheek.”

“That’s not what I was…” His voice fades, and then he’s just staring at her lips in soft, sleepy wonder. He swallows. “How do you feel?”

“Better.” She takes a deep breath, makes herself say it: “Thanks to you.”

Cassian blinks. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You were here.”

He looks at her, curious. “I thought you didn’t want me to be here?”

It’s one of the hardest things she’s ever done, looking him straight in the eye in this moment. She curls her fingers even tighter into his shirt.

“Well,” she says, “I changed my mind.”

Cassian smiles—one of those rare, genuine smiles that lights up his whole face. Then he’s leaning forward, and Jyn doesn’t miss the way his eyes flick down to her lips.

On instinct, she twitches, pressing her palm to his mouth to stop him before he kisses her.

“Wait!”

All she can see are Cassian’s eyes, wide and concerned.

“I know they said I’m not contagious,” she says, letting her hand fall from his lips, “but I’m not risking getting you sick.”

“Jyn—” He looks so anxious, like he thinks he’s misstepped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

She cuts him off by wriggling closer, burying her face against his chest where he can’t see. She feels his breath catch.

“Later,” she says. “I just...later, okay?”

He exhales, curls her in a little tighter. Then she feels the press of his lips press firm to the crown of her head.

“Okay,” he says, fingers trailing in a lazy line down her back. “Later.”

 

* * *

 

When she next wakes, someone else is in the room. She lifts her head from Cassian’s chest, squinting at the figure standing at the foot of the bed.

It’s Baze: tray of food in his hands, one eyebrow raised.

Jyn glances down at Cassian—still sleeping—then back up, opening her mouth to give some kind of justification.

Baze just shakes his head.

“I don’t want to know,” he whispers. With exaggerated care, he tiptoes across the room and sets the tray down on the table. He turns to her, gives a quick smile, and mouths the words _feel better_ as he heads back for the door.

And even though Jyn’s pretty sure she’s gone red from her cheeks to her chest, she lays back down on Cassian's shoulder and manages a quick smile in return.

**Author's Note:**

> [leralynne](http://leralynne.tumblr.com) on tumblr :) come say hi!


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